ST GEORGE! St George for England!
Clear rings the ancient cry;
St George! St George for England!
Who dares to do and die?
The fiery cross has called them
From the lonely Highland glen,
And Cambria’s lovely vales resound
To the tramp of marching men.
From Erin’s shimmering island
They cry is still “They come!”
And Tara’s sacred halls resound
To the music of the drum.
They have left the dead unburied,
And the marriage feast delayed
Till Belgium’s wrongs are all avenged,
And the Huns’ mad march is stayed.
They come from sunny Devon,
From Derby’s vales and rocks;
Left are the pen, the loom, the plough,
Deserted are the flocks.
And St George is fighting for them,
While Heaven’s vast Hosts, as one
Shall watch by them, and fight for them,
Till victory is won.
(Mary Booth)
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